| La Cocina Framed by Spanish eyes, they'll eat pieces of him like tapas with coarse mouths and wicked tongues, planting bites like kisses. He'll roast in the heated purr of R - back arched like a down-turned parenthesis fork fingers cleaved to ass, rolling nakedness like choice meats on cooking spits the temperature just shy of gourmet. Across the ocean, he'll lust like Lorca between ceviche-white teeth that'll chew his nipples like uncured olives while here in this house, bitter. |